


How Things Change

by thewolfhoundandlittlebird



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, He doesn't really curse., He's not an asshole., Sansa's not afraid to use the Lord's name in vain. Like. At all., Still hot tho., This is not the Sandor we all know.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-03-05 15:59:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18831919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolfhoundandlittlebird/pseuds/thewolfhoundandlittlebird
Summary: Well, well, well, it's been a long time.Here's apicsetif you're interested. Blame Aesop Rock for my Sandor. Sansa is Marie Lanfroy, of Saodaj'. Her inspo is also specifically fromthis video





	How Things Change

**Author's Note:**

> Well, well, well, it's been a long time.
> 
> Here's a [ picset ](https://its-meggowaffle.tumblr.com/post/185288671430/hey-hey-i-wrote-something-jesus-finally) if you're interested. Blame Aesop Rock for my Sandor. Sansa is Marie Lanfroy, of Saodaj'. Her inspo is also specifically from [ this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbSopDjYsZA)

"My _God_ , you're handsome." 

_Shit._ Did she just say that _out loud_?

She must have. Sansa stood in terror, squeezing the handle of her watering can hard enough that she probably could have molded it into a different shape. Sandor's smile flickered for a moment, a wave of confusion flashing across his face. But then the parenthesis of his smile came back again- the same ones that had made her say the stupid words in the first place.

"Thank you?" He said, a half-laugh as his eyebrows knit together. Well...  _e_ _yebrow._

Sansa wished she could become part of the floor.

_Jesus Christ, Sansa!_  She kicked herself as she scuttled away, trying not to seem as obvious as she knew she was as she hustled back to the lobby. _He's your boss!_

She tried to keep her stomach from sliding any further down, thinking about the company party they were supposed to attend tonight. She could avoid him at the office for the rest of the day, she was fairly certain, but she was sure that he would be there tonight. She'd goaded him into it, after all.

She rustled to the back of her office jungle, sandwiched now between the plants and the window to the street and wished she could drown out her stupidity the same way she was probably drowning the fern she was watering.

* * *

Somehow she'd managed to find enough projects in the back of the building to keep her occupied the whole day, but now that she checked the time, her stomach twisted in a knot. 

Everyone else had skipped out early that day, but she had tried to push back her duties- tried to minimize the time at the party when she would have to face him after her embarrassing slip up earlier. It's not like she didn't  _mean_ what she said, but  _oh, man,_ had she not meant to  _say_ it. She'd spent the better part of her day running scenarios through her head about how best to avoid him at the party, or if she should just act like nothing happened. Maybe she just shouldn't go? No, she couldn't. Even if she  _had_ blurted out such an embarrassing admission, and even if it  _would_ make the rest of her night super awkward, she felt obligated to go. Sandor hated crowds, even if those crowds were people he knew- people he  _liked-_ and she had insisted that he attend. For  _her,_ no less, as she had taken part in the meal prep and had wanted him to try it. She'd been looking forward to it!

She practically dragged herself back to her desk to grab her purse... she was only delaying the inevitable.  
  
_Oh, thank God_ , she sighed, as she approached her desk, Sandor mercifully absent from his next to it. She scooped up her bag and headed to the bathroom to change for the party.  
  
It wasn't something that she would normally wear, but as she donned the summer dress, adjusted her bra - it was so uncomfortable, but the only strapless one she owned - and smoothed her hair down, she thought it had come together rather nicely. Much as she tried to deny it to herself - oh, who was she kidding? She had a massive crush on her boss, and maybe just the slightest hope that he would take notice of her if she were dressed outside of her usual jeans-and-a-tee-shirt getup. She gave herself a once-over in the mirror, tucked in a loose strand of hair and headed back out.  
  
And there was Sandor. At his desk. At- she checked her watch- 6:30. He scrubbed a hand down his face, intent on something on the computer screen in front of him.  
  
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "What are you still doing here?" Sansa reached across her desk to click off the her lamp.  
  
He popped an earbud out, seeming to take notice of her for the first time since she'd walked by. "Hmm?" His face turned warm as he looked up at her, a distraction from his task.  
  
She motioned to the computer. "What are you working on?"  
  
"Oh," he sighed, running a hand down his face again, and bulging his eyes out at the screen. "Boss dropped this report on me last minute. Says he needs it by tomorrow."  
  
But it was the party tonight. She didn't want him to miss it. Well... she didn't much care about the  _party_ so much as she cared about not getting his reaction to the food she'd cooked. "I can help," she offered, and saw his face lighten a little.   
  
"Nah, you don't have to do that. Thanks, though," he tried, but she just slipped her purse off and flicked up her laptop screen.   
  
"What do you need to get done?" she slid into her chair, leaning over to take a look at his computer screen.  
  
He let out a slight chuckle. "Thanks, Sansa."  
  
"Of course; can't have you stuck here all night on a Friday," she smiled at him.

* * *

  
They'd been sitting in mostly silence for the rest of the night; the occasional question between the two of them as Sansa tried to sift through the data on the spreadsheets.  
  
Sandor let out a long breath, "Holy shit, it's already 11:30." (Oh, how endearing that was - she didn't think she'd ever heard him curse before.)  
  
Sansa hummed an affirmation.   
  
He scrolled through the rest of the report. "I don't think we're going to get this done tonight." He was right - she didn't know how their boss ever expected him to get this done  _all by himself_ by the morning. "Why don't we call it for the night?"  
  
"Yeah," Sansa said, arching her back and stretching out her arms. "I agree."   
  
She pushed the laptop's lid closed, her stomach gurlged, and as if reading her thoughts, "Hey, you hungry?"  
  
She laughed, nodded. "Yeah, how'd you know?" she smiled over at him, as he grabbed his keys out of his desk drawer, a finger through the key ring. Something reptilian rattled around in her brain,  _fuck, that was sexy._ God, what was wrong with her?  
  
"Lemme get you dinner, at least, for staying then." A side glance as he shut off his computer, "If you want, I mean." She did.  
  
"I'm starving." It absolutely wasn't a lie. But at least it wasn't... you know... really saying that she  _wanted to have dinner with him_. Even though... she totally did.

* * *

It wasn't until they were three blocks away from work that they realized just how late it was, and just how early their little town shut up for the night. They were on foot; Sansa didn't particularly want to drive- and anyway, she had a Fiat, and how the hell would he have fit in there?- and besides, there were plenty of places to eat around... only, apparently, not this late. Come to find out, Sandor walked to work.   
  
They rounded the corner, hoping that maybe the little Thai place listed as "late night eats" on Google would still be open. Sandor tried the handle to the door- but they both knew it was moot; lights were low and only the employees were in the back, shutting up for the night. He peered in the window, caught the eye of someone and motioned a plea for food. No dice.  
  
He turned back around, a grimace on his face, a bearer of bad news, and Sansa caught sight of the corner of a familiar marquee just over his right shoulder. The 24-hour food mart. Of course!  
  
"Hey! I have an idea!" She gleamed. _Yes, this was perfect_. Minor.... tiny flaw in it, though; "I could make something." Where would she cook it, though?  
  
Sandor smiled, that half dopey parentheses smile, "What?"  
  
"Come on," Sansa said, hooking a thumb under her purse strap and heading up the street. She'd work out the details later. She could make sandwiches or something. "We'll figure it out."  
  
Sandor shrugged and followed, and soon they were entering the blindingly-lit, sunflower-yellow painted grocery store; quite the contrast to the zombies left working the graveyard shift inside.

* * *

  
Sansa stood in front of the meat case, thinking maybe she was getting herself in deeper than she'd intended - still hadn't worked out where she could cook this stuff- but man, she wanted a  _dinner_. Not just some sandwiches. Beefy as Sandor was, she figured he probably felt the same way. _Tri-tip?_ -  
  
"What were you planning?" Sandor read her thoughts. "I figured just some of those pre-made sandwiches?"  
  
"Oh, no, I want to  _make_ something. After all, we missed the party, and-"  
  
Sandor's face fell. "Shit! I forgot, with that report, and-" Damn, it was cute when he cursed. She was so used to seeing one side of him; the professional work one.  
  
"It's ok. Probably lame anyway," she said, turning her attention back to the styrofoam trays all lined up neatly in the coffin case. "But I still want to cook something for you."  _Shitfuck_ , did she really just use "for you?" Like...  _"for YOU?!"_ She screamed at herself internally. "For y- I mean, us,"  _Jesus, Sansa_ , "You know what I mean."  
  
Sandor chuckled, shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I don't live that far away." Sansa turned, thinking more realistically about the tri-tip now. "I mean, not to sound presumptuous, or anything, but-"  
  
"That would be perfect!" She got to cook for him  _and_ see his place. Something felt sacred here. Like some divide had just been crossed that she didn't know she'd been yearning to ford.

* * *

Sandor pulled out his keys, the bag full-  _full_ \- of groceries under his arm, and turned the lock to his apartment. Sansa's nerves had been humming with a low sort of electrical current ever since they'd stepped out of the office building that night, and they had been slowly upping the ante the whole night. She thought she might spontaneously combust pretty soon if she didn't set her attention to something other than the way his hand looked as he had pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, or the way his Adam's apple moved as he had laughed at her stupid jokes, or that Goddamn smile.  
  
"Well, home sweet home," he said, a verbal shrug, as he swung the door open and flicked on the entry way light. This wasn't  _at all_ what she had imagined his house to be- not that she'd ever imagined sleeping in his bed or doing... activities on the kitchen butcher block that she dreamed up. She surveyed his modest space; deep leather sofa, a bachelor-sized TV, some pictures up on the wall. Was that?... she leaned closer to inspect one. Was that his  _girlfriend_? Her stomach dropped to the floor.  _Shit_. She couldn't remember ever having talked about that with him.   
  
He noticed, came back over to her after setting the bag of groceries down on the counter. "That's Stranger," he said, as if that explained the  _gorgeous_ black-haired, blue eyed woman in the photo- oh. Oh, yes, there was also a dog there... He had a dog?   
  
"What kind of breed is he?" she recovered, even though she could tell by the jowls and the drool and his massive frame that he was a Newfoundland.  
  
"Newfie," he said, booping the picture-dog on the nose. "Passed last year. Great dog... And she," he pointed to the woman, "Is Eleanor; my sister." He smiled. Could tell she was wondering.  
  
"Ah; that makes sense," cause  _yeah, she could see it,_ now that she knew. "I thought she was your girlfriend at first."  
  
He was peering inside the fridge, now, "Nope, no girlfriend." He straightened back out, two beer bottles hanging between his fingers and his other hand over his stomach and Goddamnit why did his hands have to be so sexy?  
  
Sansa moved to start unpacking the bag as he held out a beer for her, an offering question on his face. "Oh, no thank you; I don't drink."  _Sansa, don't be rude_.  
  
But he was too quick for her to redact her impoliteness; the beer was back in the fridge and a two-liter of Diet Coke was out in its place almost immediately. "It might be flat, though; I got this for James-and-Cokes a while back, but didn't finish it all." He looked a touch ashamed that those were the only two non-water options he had at his house, or maybe it was for offering her could-be-flat Diet Coke.   
  
She shrugged, "Coke is Coke. Have a glass?"  


* * *

"Are you sure you don't want any help?" Sandor leaned on the arm of the sofa, watching her cook, and really, she was almost done. She'd insisted that he not lift a finger; it  _may_ have been because she had a  _slight_ need to pamper him, take care of him, whatever- but she was so excited to present him with  _dinner_. Well... maybe it was more whatever you could call a meal at 1:30 in the morning. Sansa pulled out the garlic bread from the oven, the tri-tip (yes!) on the stove setting its juices. Ranch beans and broccoli were already done, and-  
  
"Do you have any plates?"  _What kind of question is that,_ _Sansa?_   Of course he has plates.  
  
He chuckled, that  _Goddamn smile_ , and scooted behind her to retrieve said plates from the cupboard at her back. "Of course."   


* * *

"Fuck, that was good," Sandor leaned back against the sofa, a hand on his now-full stomach.  _Ugh, again with the cursing_ , her butterfly-nerves were a-twitter.  
  
"Thank you," she said simply, proud of her cooking skills. It had filled her with a beaming sense of pride to see him happily accept the plate offered to him and wolf it down. He'd even gone back for seconds, commenting on how good it had been in between bites. "I'm glad you liked it."  
  
"I'm sorry that we missed the party." She looked over at him, eyes half-lidded in a food coma, scruff on his cheek illuminated by the TV light. Fuck, she wanted to kiss him.  
  
"Don't worry about it," she said, pushed her knuckles against his knee in a fake-punch as she slid her plate onto the coffee table.  _Jesus, did she really just do that?_   "I still got to got to show off my cooking chops." She gave a maybe-too-big smile to cover the, well, admission that she'd wanted to show off to him and the fact that she  _touched him_. On his knee. You don't normally  _touch_ people on their knee.   
  
But, also, the stretch to the coffee table shifted the band of that damn bra she'd insisted on wearing, and she flashed back to how painfully aware she'd been all night that it had been digging in to her side. She pinched at the band, trying to drag it down to fix the problem, but it only made it worse. Sandor noticed, she noticed he noticed, and then, "You want a t-shirt or something?" His voice was soft, half middle of the night quiet, half maybe-I-shouldn't-be-asking-this.  
  
But oh. Oh. Wearing his t-shirt. When -thefuck- else would this opportunity present itself? To be honest, his t-shirt would probably come to her knees. "Sure; I mean, if you don't mind." She was glad the kitchen light was backlighting her, and the TV cast a blue hue on her face so she could hide her blush.  
  
"Of course not." He raised himself off the couch, grabbing the plates and offering her a hand to help dig her out of the deep-set cushions.  


* * *

Sansa stood in Sandor's bathroom, in front of Sandor's mirror, looking at herself in Sandor's white t-shirt. She'd been wrong; it only came mid-thigh, but it was decent enough and not that much shorter than her dress had been. It was a clean t-shirt, fresh out of his closet, and it smelled like Tide, but it also still had that faint smell of deodorant that you can never really get rid of. It smelled like him. She scrunched the knit up to her nose, took a breath of it. He'd given her a robe, too, just in case the t-shirt was too short, and she pulled it on, tightened the tie around her waist. Oh, God, that one smelled even more like him. Fresh-out-of-the-shower, aftershave. Man. She rubbed her cheek against the fuzzy collar of it and pretended she was cuddling against him.  


* * *

"Why, you look just like my twin!" He exclaimed as she walked back into the living room. She was going to have to give this stuff back to him at some point. She needed to go home, didn't she? At least, that's probably what was appropriate.   
  
But instead she just laughed at him and sank back onto the couch on the next cushion over. Some BBC nature documentary was playing, the one set in the middle of the ocean, and she stretched and yawned and remembered how late it was getting. But she didn't want to leave yet. Just a little bit longer. She decided she would just shut her eyes for one minute. That'd give her enough oompf to make it a couple more hours. She'd twirl her foot to keep her awake.  _Yes,_   _solid plan,_ she thought, as she leaned her head against the back of the sofa.  _Yes, see, this works_ , she kidded herself, as she spun her foot and fell asleep.  


* * *

She woke up hazily sometime in the more-middle of the night, the YouTube video they'd been watching sitting at the end screen, suggestions for _next up_ displayed hopefully on the black background. And her head was on his shoulder.   
  
_Her head was on his shoulder_.   
  
_How did that happen?_ She looked up at him, his head back against the cushions, too, like hers had been. His mouth hung open and he was breathing deeply.   
  
_It was an accident,_ she told herself. Who knows how she'd gotten there, but now that she  _was_ there, if she just put her head back on his shoulder and fell asleep again, in the morning, she could claim it was an accident.  _Yes,_ sleepy Sansa agreed,  _yes, let's do that._  


* * *

Next thing she knew, a single beam of sunlight was hitting her in the eye, and she stirred. But something was against her.  _Someone_. Sansa booted up her mind double-speed as she struggled to process what position she was in- and very quickly realized that somehow, over the course of the night, she'd ended up sandwiched between Sandor and the back of the couch, and she  _was snuggled up to his chest_ and  _his arm was around her shoulders_. She almost let the internal  _squee_ escape as she moved a bit, taking in that her leg was in between his, and her arm was lazily flopped over his stomach.  
  
_Shit_ , she should really move, though. He would wake up sooner or later and then she'd have to try to figure out an excuse for  _this_. For some reason, she felt like she would need to explain something, but as she tried to extract herself without waking him, his arm around her shoulders pulled her into him.  
  
"No, don't go," he grumbled, voice deep and heavy in morning-sleep. She thought he must have been sleep-talking and chanced a look up at his face, only to see awake, albeit very heavy-lidded eyes looking back at her. "I mean... you can if you want," he lifted his arm up to permit her vacancy.  
  
But instead she pushed back the  _swarm_ of butterflies in her stomach, nuzzled against his chest by way of an answer and scooted closer to him. He pulled the blanket from the back of the sofa across their legs, and the arm around her shoulders came back, and so did the sleep.   
  
The -blissful- sleep.  


* * *

This was a completely different thing, she thought, as she scrubbed at her teeth with a toothpaste-covered finger, Sandor brushing his teeth next to her. Somehow, in the course of a night, everything about him had changed. Every perception she had of him had somehow shifted as they had talked into the wee hours of the morning, poking fun at each other's video choice, as they had, quite literally, slept together. He knew more about her, she knew more about him. He wasn't just some boss-enigma; he was a real person with experiences and friends and family, and- she realized that something had changed with her crush on him, too. What was the next stage of crush? Perhaps she was in that.  
  
She leaned down to spit out the toothpaste, smiled at him through the mirror as he ran rinsed out his brush. And oh- he was coming closer, and oh- he slid an arm around her waist, and then his lips were on hers. She melted. Could people melt? If they could, then that's what happened. He pulled back, forehead to forehead, and they smiled. Those damned parentheses. So damn them, she thought, as she kissed them, laughing against his scarred cheek, arms around his neck and hugging him, and oh, how things could change in a night.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if that reads weird. I wrote this in an afternoon, and it's mostly clips of things I've been fantasizing about for the past few weeks.
> 
> Also, if the coworker that I accidentally told I write fanfiction to ever finds this, he's gonna know exactly who's writing this particular one.... Whoops.


End file.
